Make Haste, Then, to the One You Love
by Sweet Valentine
Summary: You struggle a bit as the vines grasp tighter, choking the life out of you. Ah Blank, the unsung hero. How valiant it is to rush into the fray, only to find yourself being left behind.


**This was originally posted in my other story 'as long as we remember', but I decided to keep that fore more 'drabble stories' and I feel that this can stand on its own - and since I'm rather proud of this one, I'd like to make it separate. Anyway, this is more of an experimental fic for me, and I hope you enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Square or FFIX.  
**

**Make Haste Then, To the One You Love**

You shiver from the damp coolness of the air, the moisture clinging to your body mercilessly, but nevertheless you trudge on, through murky, swampy, reeking waters hurriedly. You go as fast as physically possible (which isn't as fast as you'd like, because the swamps are muddy and sticky, and they latch onto your boots fiercely, begging you as a mistress to her lover says – "Stay"). You don't like being alone, not in the godforsaken _Evil Forest_, and even though you take pride in your swordsmanship skills (you are vastly superior to Zidane, if "I Want to Be Your Canary" is any indicator), you still would rather have some help in battle. You've encountered more Fangs and Goblins than you'd have liked, and even though you've come out no worse for wear, the sooner you get to Zidane, the better.

As you plod on, you realize it's no stretch that it's called the "Evil Forest." The forest is harsh and unyielding, and it sticks you with sharp bristles from nearby thorn bushes, blocks your path with wretched shrubbery, and claws at your face with vicious, low-hanging branches from trees that look as if they are purposefully trying to lunge at you. The multitude of little cuts are not so threatening as you have to waste a potion on them; nonetheless, they're annoyances you'd rather not have to deal with, not when you're trying to catch up with that stupid idiot Zidane, who just has to go and play hero because he thinks with the _wrong head_.

You swear under your breath, but at least Baku was sensible enough to send you out with a world map and orders to find Zidane and "make sure he doesn't get himself killed."

You responded, "Yeah, no one wants that," the words tart in your mouth. Baku looked at you sharply, his eyes almost boring into your skull.

"No, I'm not sure what we'd do. You know – if he died." His stare was hard. "Not sure how we'd cope." Any reply you could have possibly made died in your throat, dried and thick.

(Sometimes, you thought Baku knew so much more than he let on.)

As you turned on your heel to depart, you heard Baku speak once more.

"Act II, Scene 5, Line 153."

You froze, heart pounding in your chest, and swiveled to face him, expression carefully guarded, but he'd already turned his back on you. After staring for a few moments, you left again, his words seeping into your brain, digesting.

And now you're out in the cold, sodding forest with the Goblins and Fangs, with the tree branches that are trying to impale you, pondering those words. You know it well – act II, scene 5, line 153. "I Want to Be Your Canary" is a popular show, and you've heard the one and only Zidane proclaim those lines to Marcus more times than you can remember.

…The irony is not lost on you.

(Baku _definitely_ knows more than he lets on, the bastard.)

…You nonetheless make haste.

You arrive, like always, in the nick of time (you have a penchant for doing that, and it's something you're rather proud of), and you draw your sword and take your place beside the one you've been searching for. Your swordsmanship skills, coupled with Zidane's and the Captain's and that Mage's magic, easily cuts down the loathsome vegetation, and Zidane hurries to the Princess' side. You've brought a dose of your medicine with you and administer it to her, careful to note the sensation of Zidane's presence hovering just over your shoulder. The Captain picks up the girl gingerly just as you hear a rumbling – that ominous sound is a harbinger for _nothing_ good, you know it, and the group wastes little time in getting the hell out of there.

You and Zidane trail slightly behind, and you don't waste the opportunity to 'catch up' with him.

"So, how's things?" You see him fight the urge to roll his eyes; even when being chased by a hoard of hungry plant demons, you still pride yourself on managing to be an infuriating, glib _ass_. Which you find funny and ironic because half of the time, he's even more flippant than you.

"Now's _not_ the time, Blank," you hear him mutter through clenched teeth, and you shrug.

"Baku gave me a map," you say quickly, because it's difficult to sprint and chat at the same time. "Thought you could use it, as well as a helping hand."

"Aw, how nice of you to decide to come," Zidane manages to quip before a thorny vine comes and swats at them, forcing the younger man to then sputter "Oh, shit!"

You can't help but agree with his sentiments. But you don't have time to respond, because Zidane can't see what you can – the thorns are coming right for him and you force yourself to react.

You fling yourself into him as hard as you can, pushing him out of harms way, and you wince as you feel the jagged thorns pierce your sides (well, aren't you just a natural little messiah?) You heave the map with one strong stroke towards Zidane, who's looking at you with a mixture of confusion and despair on his face, but he gets the gesture and keeps going.

You struggle a bit as the vines grasp tighter, choking the life out of you. Ah Blank, the unsung hero – how valiant it is to rush into the fray, only to find yourself being left behind.

Your mind is buzzing, swarming with a million of tiny thoughts, memories, actions, but one comes to the forefront, vivid and clear. As Zidane sprints away, to freedom, to safety, the pleading words "Come back for me?" bubble on your lips.

They die on your tongue as you freeze with the earth.


End file.
